


every treason

by wearethewitches



Series: I am weak, my love and I am wanting [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, Kidnapping, M/M, Monsters, Music, Sirens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22735468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearethewitches/pseuds/wearethewitches
Summary: The sight that greets Geralt is interesting to say the least.There Jaskier is, acting like a demented conductor, instructing sirens on timing and harmonisation.or - Jaskier is kidnapped by sirens and Geralt goes has to go rescue him~(geraskier week, day two: monster hunt)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: I am weak, my love and I am wanting [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632970
Comments: 17
Kudos: 883





	every treason

Skellige is a hotbed for sirens.

Jaskier knew this, of course – Geralt told him, upon accepting a contract to hunt down a flock that had made nest near a larger village off the coast of Cintra. They’d passed through the mainland towards said village, whereupon they’d been set upon by said flock. Jaskier is proud to say that he, like the clever bard he is, slipped out of sight so as to let Geralt focus on wiping them out and not have to worry about keeping him safe.

Unfortunately, Jaskier’s hiding place was not so hidden to the flying fish monsters as he originally thought. Almost immediately upon getting settled behind a rock, clawed hands tucked under his armpits and dragged him up into the air – the siren even let out a cackle of joy, the bitch.

“This is really, very not good,” says Jaskier to himself, edging towards the middle of the plateau he’d been deposited upon. In the distance, he can see the mountains of Cintra on the horizon, where his beloved Witcher is most likely chartering a boat in an attempt to track him down. Jaskier assumes he will either have drowned by then or-

“ _What are you doing with my lute?_ ” Jaskier screeches abruptly, grabbing for his prized instrument that has somehow found itself in the grasp of a malevolent siren. Said siren lets him take it, giggling in a dastardly way. Jaskier brushes various dribbles of water off the wooden edge, flinching as a wave rises up over the rocks and his boots, soaking his feet instantly. “Now, that’s not polite at all, playing with a man’s instrument!”

“Sing to us,” another of the flock teases, curling up against the edge of rock she leans against. In a beautiful form – a decision of which a mere half of her compatriots have taken – the siren pouts. “We want to hear you sing, famous bard. Won’t you?”

“If I sing, will you take me back to dry land and let me run off?” Jaskier replies, swallowing nervously at the titters from the group. Normally, he’d be all over having a mob of beautiful women asking him to sing to them, but these are sirens, who most likely want to _eat_ him.

He strums a chord to check the tuning of his darling lute. He has to adjust two of the strings, beginning to panic.

“What do you want from me?”

The siren at the edge of the rock, seemingly their spokesperson – _spokes-siren?_ – smiles at him. It’s blinding in intensity and if Jaskier didn’t have a very gorgeous Witcher in his romantic grasp, he would have pounced at the chance to bed her.

“We have heard your songs and your music. We made some trouble, so the infamous White Wolf might come along with his bard to teach us his tricks.” She tells him, resting her chin upon her folded hands. If the water didn’t rise then, to cover her and let the salt reveal her demonic fish-face, Jaskier would have thought the sight to be one for his songs. He still might take inspiration from this moment, if he survives, that is.

“You…” he starts, confused. His brows knit together in his concentration. “You want me to tutor you in music?”

“I’m hungry.” A smaller, more childish siren amongst her fellows lets out a whine, wings flapping against the water. Another quiets her and Jaskier is struck by their camaraderie; is this yet another Filavandrel and the elves? Sirens wishing for food and safety in a world that hates them-

“Shush, you can eat one of the fishermen tomorrow morning, when they go out to check the crab-pots,” the other siren replies.

Jaskier wants to retch.

_Definitely not another Filavandrel and the elves._

The spokes-siren speaks again. “We won’t eat you. It will be a fair trade. We brought your lute – you do not have a flock to accompany you, we know. What say you, famous bard?”

There really isn’t any other answer he can give but _yes_ , at this point.

 _Oh Geralt,_ Jaskier thinks desperately as he takes up his lute, pasting on a cheery mask. _Please rescue me soon._

“Basics first, please! May I hear some lovely scales from you all, if you would be so kind?”

 _Very soon,_ he thinks fervently – _before they decide to eat me after all!_

* * *

The sight that greets Geralt is interesting to say the least. The fishermen had warned of the sirens by the Green Rock that had flocked two days ago, all gathered in chorus with their melodious voices drifting across the ocean. Knowing himself immune to their charm, Geralt immediately set out on a small vessel towards the rock, truly not expecting to find his lover at all – he was quite ready to take his remains back to land to bury, if he found them at all. Certainly, there would be many siren bodies, once he was done with them.

But no.

There Jaskier is, acting like a demented conductor, instructing sirens on _timing_ and _harmonisation_ with his damn lute and his damn smile, which grows all the brighter at the sight of Geralt.

“My White Wolf! Caela, look, look – let him through!”

“Jaskier,” Geralt grunts, wary of the sirens that grab at the boat’s edges, holding it in place as he makes his way to the bow. “Are you alright?”

“I am divine, my dear, darling fellow,” says Jaskier, though he sighs in contentment and exhaustion. He droops in place, slinging his lute backwards and reaching for Geralt’s outstretched hand. The Witcher doesn’t waste any time in hauling Jaskier onto the boat, arms locking around him in an emotionally stunted cuddle, as Jaskier likes to call Geralt’s usual form of embrace.

“Caela and her flock just wanted some tutoring in the fine art of music, would you believe?” Jaskier exclaims, tucking his head under Geralt’s chin fondly. “I’m free to go without being eaten, for it.”

Geralt grunts. He doesn’t trust the sirens, one of whom is looking at them with hungry eyes.

“And how long were you supposed to… _tutor_ , them?”

“Until you came along,” replies Jaskier, hand tracing the firm line of Geralt’s side. Clearly, his bard has missed him. He shifts, looking back at a certain beast. “Caela, my love, that was the agreement, yes?”

“We want you to stay,” the siren groans, petulant and grumpy. Her tails flaps a spray of water in their direction. “You’re a good singer, our Jaskier.”

“I shall visit again, if I can,” promises Jaskier, like he isn’t supposed to be running far, _far_ away from these damn kidnappers. Geralt’s grip tightens around his bard, which Jaskier doesn’t even fight against as he continues speaking to Caela. “How about one last song? Make it your best, my darlings. No magic, of course – you don’t want to enthral me like yester-eve, do we?”

“No!”

“Of course not!”

“I’m so sorry-”

A horde of voices all exclaim similar opinions all at once and even when they don’t sing, Geralt can tell they are in sync, not one odd tone amongst them. The sirens don’t even look that ghastly, now he can see them acting…well, _normally_. The younger ones look more emotional, but the elder sirens are clearly dramatic.

 _…women,_ Geralt rolls his eyes. He tunes Jaskier out as he continues chatting, promising various sirens by name that he’ll visit, that yes, he’ll come listen to their new arias. It’s utterly abominable. And here, Geralt thought he’d be getting into a fucking _fight_ with this flock.

“We shall miss you.” Caela finally finishes, pushing upwards with one swift beat of her wings. She grasps onto the mast, the boat creaking and rocking precariously as she reaches out, curving one, soft, glamoured hand against Jaskier’s face. Geralt is forced to loosen his grip as Jaskier leans in, smiling as Caela presses her lips against his.

Magic sparks.

“A gift, so you might hear the underwater choir,” the siren smiles. She kisses Jaskier’s forehead, then dives into the water with a gigantic _splash_ , followed by the rest of her flock. In mere seconds, they disappear from sight and the boat is set adrift. All that is left it Jaskier, Geralt and the sea.

“…well, that was rather nice. Nerve-wracking and utterly terrifying, but nice, once I got to know them.” Jaskier shudders. “The little ones are creeps, though. Kept going on about wanting to eat poor sailors.”

Geralt grunts, communicating his hatred for the fact that Jaskier was taken. Jaskier looks up at him with a frown, arguing.

“It could have been worse! They could have _eaten_ me, you know-”

“I know.”

“-and the kidnapping was uncalled for, very scary. Do you know what it’s like, being flown over a hundred metres above water for several miles? No, you don’t! I do, _I do!_ Oh, but I will miss their lovely voices-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupts, “shut up.”

His beloved’s expression twists into one of outrage. “I’ll have you know, I have every right to complain about being _kidnapped-_ ”

Geralt kisses him.

It shuts him up nicely.


End file.
